Tag Archives: movies

Post navigation

I can’t stand the Olympics. It takes away my regularly scheduled television programs for two whole weeks and then no one will let me watch Bravo because the Olympics only come once every 4 years and the Housewives are replayed twice a day.

I thought Whiplash was FINE. Not like, “what a fine film,” but like, “UGH, it was FINE.” I won’t regale you with my thoughts on how there were only maybe 3 female extras in the entire music school just about. Regardless of that, I hate films that involve too much drumming, or wild drumming. Or any movie where people get yelled at to practice instruments except for Mr. Holland’s Opus because trust that I will watch it every time it’s on TV.

I think polygamy is a cool and acceptable life choice as long as everyone is of age and like those Sister Wives people. I wish those sister wives could all marry each other because I think that idiot husband-child is just a major handicap and his hair looks over processed. The second half of this unpopular opinion is probably a VERY popular opinion amongst viewers of the show.

Ross was the comedic glue that held Friends together.

I never lost any sleep over that missing Malaysian plane or what’s up with the Bermuda Triangle or Amelia Earhart. I just don’t care about things that disappear out of nowhere unless it’s a coed on a spring break trip to Mexico. Serial Killers > Plane drama any day.

You might have read Kathryn Gallagher’s name on this blog before as she is my podcast co-host for Wine and Whine, but what you might not know is that she is also my 90’s Teen Witch Moon Princess with the voice of an angel and the brows of a 14 year old Brooke Shields.

So, luckily, I had already seen one of the movies during Christmas, American Hustle. Even luckier, I did not sneak wine into the theater on this one occasion, so I can recall the beginning, middle, and end to an extent. Here is my review:

Great breasts, both male and female, throughout the film, from all parties. Special mention to Amy’s side and middle breasts. Hair. The other half of that guy’s face from Boardwalk Empire. I could have done without the entire first hour of the movie. Louie CK can just play himself in every movie if he wants, I’m fine with it. Jennifer Lawrence, who? Amy Adams is the unsung hero in my book, do you remember that she was in Drop Dead Gorgeous? Carmine’s wife was pretty legit. Nail polish. Am I the only one who is afraid of David O’Russell based on the stories the actors tell about him on late night shows? The 60’s, who? The 70’s is the unsung hero of all the decades in my book. Disco and perms and whatnot? That was the point of the film, correct?

Overall, the American Hustle was nice to look at, especially the breasts belonging to all parties, male and female.

Agree? Disagree? (Only tell me if you agree, this is my blog, don’t be rude).

I think I’m doing enough worrying for all of us, but what will become of Q. Wallis and her puppy purse?

Wait, though.

What was in that purse, anyway? A Lip Smackers chapstick and a baggy full of dry Cheerios? Could her mother not hold on to that, or was her purse too full of her daughter’s money that she’ll hold on to until she’s 18 or legally emancipated, which ever comes first?

I apologize for all the questions, but I don’t think any of us, including that child’s mother, are looking out for this girl.

We’re all realistic about Honey Boo Boo and where that is headed, but just because Q isn’t swilling Go-Go Juice and snorting pixie sticks at her mother’s behest, that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to end up the same way (being exploited by Dr. Drew).

Have we all just forgotten Tatum O’Neal? She’s not just that awful lady who shoe-shames Carrie on that one episode of Sex and the City. She’s Tatum O’Neal, 10 year old Oscar winner for Paper Moon. By 12, she was with Melanie Griffith having hash fueled orgies in Paris. That’s a pretty quick turn around. Grant it, I’m pretty sure since Drew Barrymore left rehab you’re not allowed to give 10 year olds cocaine and a Manhattan for a job well done at the Spy Kids wrap party, but I still don’t trust Q Wallis around those Hollywood vultures.

Even if she never touched a bottle of Go-Go Juice her entire life, I still don’t have high hopes for her as an adult. You can’t nominate a 9 year old for an Oscar and not expect her to be the kind of person who throws Quinoa salad at her assistant because she forgot to ask for chickpeas on the side. By 9, you’re beginning to enter your character building years where you develop a sense of humor or other pleasing personality traits that distract from how crooked your teeth are. Q has an Oscar nomination. That’s her compensatory personality trait. She can basically just stop developing and maturing as a human being right now. She probably has already dropped those “please” and “thank you’s” from her vocabulary all together. She can just say “HUNGRY” and bang her Austin Film Critics Association Award on the table until some PA magically appears with a Happy Meal. Someone should have told her that making muscle arms when they say your name at the Oscars is unseemly and doesn’t display a lot of humility. Instead, Giuliana Rancic goes on and on about how adorable it was sealing her fate as a future high maintenance, disagreeable grown-up child actor.

Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Or maybe Elle Fanning is offering Q her first frozen pina colada at The Rainforest Cafe while we sit idly by thinking nothing’s wrong.

4 Hours Prior to Leaving the House: Get a craving for some kind of take-out food for dinner. I will generally rationalize the fact that I’m about to eat some sort of heavy meal before wearing some sort of spandex/cotton blend dress by telling myself that eating a huge meal before drinking is the responsible thing to do.

3.5 Hours Prior to Leaving the House: Curse myself for eating Indian or Greek food before going out. No amount of Listerine Total Care Mouthwash will hide this smell because now the chicken tikka masala is just seeping out of my pores. I make peace with myself and God and the fact that I’ll be talking with my hand discreetly in front of my mouth for the night.

3 Hours Prior to Leaving the House: Finish the last 45 minutes of Clueless on Comedy Central.

2 Hours and 15 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Remember that time exists and who I am as a person and realize that 2 hours and 15 minutes is cutting it close if I want to be ready on time.

2 Hours Prior to Leaving the House: Stop watching a 10 year-old episode of Law and Order: SVU on TBS and get in the shower (unless it’s the episode where Olivia goes undercover at the women’s prison, in which case, all is lost).

1 Hour and 15 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Start in on a glass of wine while I dry my hair. Drinking while getting ready to go out and drinking while cooking are my two favorite hobbies besides drinking outside during the day.

1 Hour Prior to Leaving the House: Weigh the pros and cons of leaving the house. Think of ways to get out of these plans. Curse myself for making plans.

45 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Realize that drinking before putting my eye make up on was a bad idea. Go through 8 Q-tips trying to clean up the mess I’ve made with my Urban Decay Naked Palette.

30 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Take a break because make up is tiring. Walk around the house. Pick at whatever food I didn’t finish from earlier. Pour myself more wine. Decide it’s too late to cancel now. Consider canceling, again. No, I’m going, I have to go.

15 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Look at my phone and see that I’m supposed to be at my destination in 5 minutes. Apply mascara and curl my eyelashes.

10 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Put on the outfit I decided on earlier.

5 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Put on a different outfit.

1 Minute Prior to Leaving the House: Curl my eyelashes.

30 Seconds Prior to Leaving the House: Text friends that I’m on the road.

I hope Bradley wins because I still feel bad for him that everyone got so mad that he was People’s Sexiest Man of the Year instead of Ryan Gosling in 2011. Do I think it was an oversight on People’s part? Sure. Is that Bradley’s fault? Absolutely not. Probably ugly people were complaining all over Twitter saying Bradley wasn’t sexy enough, which I think is just rude and untrue. Who amongst us non-famous cretins would kick him out of bed for eating crackers? I can’t even say with certainty that I’d kick him out of bed for pooping in it. He is that sexy. Oscar for Bradley!

I chose Jacki Weaver by process of elimination because I don’t actually have any idea who she is, and I have no time to Google such nonsense. “No” to Sally Field because it freaks me out that she has always looked exactly the same since she was on Gidget. This is not a compliment to how well she is aging, but an insult to her former self that she has always looked like a 60 year-old woman without wrinkles. “No” to Amy Adams because I think her strawberry blonde hair is very non-committal. “No” to Helen Hunt because I don’t like that her and Paul Reiser divorced at the end of Mad About You. A “No” to Anne Hathaway because her acceptance speeches are like the open auditions week on American Idol where I have to constantly look down at my phone and say “Ahhhh, I can’t take it” over and over until it stops. So, congrats, Jacki.

Searching for Sugar Man because it’s about one of Honey Boo Boo’s family members, right? Sounds fun.

Best motion picture of the year: AmourArgoBeasts of the Southern WildDjango UnchainedLes MisérablesLife of PiLincolnSilver Linings PlaybookZero Dark Thirty

Ar-go Fuck Yourself! Right?! I chose this as best picture because 1. It is the only movie I have seen of the 10, 2. Ben Affleck 4ever, 3. I liked it even though the last 15 minutes gave me so much anxiety that I started Googling on my phone “how does Argo end?”

Today, instead of making fun of Courtney Stodden’s twitter (which btw, I don’t know what they did to her at Couples Therapy [and I will find out] but since she came back, her tweets don’t have the same uncomfortable sexual innuendos of an underage girl who really took to the alliteration lesson in her 7th grade English class) I’ll be going into further detail of an old tweet I wrote this summer about the Citizen Kane of stripper movies.I realize a post on Magic Mike isn’t exactly topical, and there are more pressing and timely matters to discuss, like Honey Boo Boo announcing her official support of “Marak” Obama. However, since Sunday’s conclusion of Real Housewives of New Jersey, I feel that the topic of strippers is relevant again, though, when do G-strings and body glitter ever go out of style? I think Nina Garcia would agree that they are timeless staples for every man and woman’s wardrobe.

For those of you who don’t watch RHNJ, Teresa Guidice accused her sister in-law Melissa, and her ex-best friend Jacqueline of being strippers.

After three full hours of Melissa batting her big, beautiful fake eyelashes in disappointment and Teresa nearly popping a blood vessel trying to convince everyone that she and her brother would have made a stunning couple (aww, just imagine little Gia with two thumbs on one hand), Joe Gorga (her brother) gleefully admitted that it was he who stripped through college, not his wife. It was hilarious and endearing that Joe was a stripper, no one was wondering if Joe had a weird uncle that indirectly set him on this path of moral depravity. Yet for Melissa and Jacqueline, it would be considered a huge shame on them if they really did meet their husbands while stripping (that’s a meet-cute if I’ve ever heard one!).

Which brings me back to my original point about Magic Mike. They kind of made out male strippers to be men contributing as much to society as volunteer firefighters- doing their part along with 50 Shades of Grey to liberate middle aged women from their sexual repression. In real life, Channing Tatum was a stripper, and everyone thought it was so funny that he was on the Ellen Show handing out lap dances like Halloween candy. Meanwhile, the media tells Diablo Cody to go to her room and think about what she did while she writes the Sweet Valley High movie adaption. Unfair! Everyone should have the equal opportunity to strip guilt-free no matter what your gender.

Like this:

Here’s another post where I tell you about something I don’t like and/or disagree with.

If you’re a friend of the blog, if you’re the Jon Hamm to my SNL, you know that I love personal safety. I can be spontaneous, but only if the threat of bodily harm is remote and contained to freak and unforeseeable accidents. As a child, was I up to taking a late night bike ride to a cemetery Now and Then, style? Absolutely, as long as a helmet was provided. I just loved the security of wearing my helmet (but I wasn’t a total nerd, I begrudgingly put on my wrist guards when I went roller blading).

This cautious part of my personality is the source of why I hate the term “YOLO” (For my relatives reading this, that means “You Only Live Once”). I get the sentiment, but I think it’s irresponsible. Do we need young adults running around YOLO-ing– trying bath salts and passing around Hep C to all of Arizona State? NO!

Sure, you only live once (though Buddha and Drew Barrymore might disagree with you on that), but I’m still interested in getting through life without a meth addiction.

So don’t you YOLO me, bitch! I will not try your meth!!!

My idea of YOLO-ing (ugh how many more times do I have to type out YOLO? I can hear it in my head, and I hate it) includes some low stakes bad ass-ery. For example, the other night my friend Jill came over, and instead of getting a male prostitute and REALLY living, we did something a little more our speed and snuck chicken fingers and wine juice boxes into a screening of Magic Mike.

Was bringing outside food and beverages against the theatre’s policy? Hell yes.

Did we see a movie about male strippers? Uh huh, I think we did.

Did I see Olivia Munn’s boobies (that weren’t even kind of necessary to the plot)? YUP.

Like this:

I have always loved Devon Sawa ever since Wild America and Casper (he shows up at the very end to dance with Christina Ricci. By the way, I watched Casper recently and it holds up. I don’t remember it being such a tear-jerker, though).

Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Devon…that other guy on the right, this was my 8 year-old HBO After Dark, okay?

So, I’ve been wondering what he’s been up to since Idle Hands and that video for that Eminem song, ‘Stan’, and I found Devon’s twitter. What I learned from following him is that he’s been keeping himself busy, and there are lots of different sides to him.

Before we get started, I have a little disclaimer from Devon himself:

You hear that, people? If you shake your head clean off your neck, Devon and I are not responsible!

Alright, check ‘I agree to these terms’ and let’s go on this Twitter adventure together.

The Many Masks of Devon Sawa:

There’s Devon Sawa, The Animal Lover:

Devon Sawa, The Environmentalist:

Devon Sawa, The Catskill Comedian:

Devon Sawa, Women’s Rights Activist:

Devon Sawa, Fashionista:

Devon Sawa, World Traveler:

Devon Sawa, The Mathematician:

Devon Sawa, The Athlete:

And of course…

Devon Sawa, The Actor:

(I can tell you how that workshop went: ‘Alright, so while you’re acting, point and swat towards the camera. That’s it! Thanks for the 300 bucks!’)

.……..had monogrammed stationery. I feel like there’s no greater mark of an adult who has it together than sending out monogrammed thank you notes for a lovely job interview or lunch date.

………could say to someone, “Just promise you won’t fall in love with me.” If you say this to someone, you better be sure that you can back it up with them falling in love with you. This is like, a sleeper statement… the real impact occurs after a period of dormancy. When you first say something like that, I don’t think your victim has any other choice but to think you’re a lunatic. But then if they do fall in love with you, the payoff is just that much more theatrical. If the kind of person who says this is real and doesn’t live in a movie, my hat’s off to you. I just could not be so bold.

……….who liked cats. Though I have my preconceived judgements about cat people (don’t be mad, I know how much bloggers love cats), I still wish I, at the very least, wasn’t afraid of cats. When I move out of my ‘rents, it would be nice to have a pet, but I couldn’t have a dog because there would be no one to take her out all day. Since cats are so self sufficient (ie. if you died it could live off eating your dead body and peeing in the tub for months… [your dog would either find help or starve and then die nobly cuddled by your side on the kitchen floor]) they are the perfect pet for a single, busy person. I just don’t enjoy them. I think a big cat scratched the hell out of me when I was a toddler, so I’ve been scared ever since. Or, this memory of being attacked by a cat was something I dreamed as a child…. regardless, the trauma is still very real to me.

I think I could accomplish the first one. And you know what they sing, “now, don’t be sad, ’cause 1 out of 3 is perfectly adequate.”